Maxioms by Robert Browning
Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven
What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven
What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
Her voice changed like a bird's:
There grew more of the music, and less of the words.
Her voice changed like a bird's:
There grew more of the music, and less of the words.
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for?
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for?
From the sprinkled isles,
Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea.
From the sprinkled isles,
Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea.
